


The Right Thing

by Lyraspace



Category: Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends
Genre: Amputation, First Meetings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Canon, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyraspace/pseuds/Lyraspace
Summary: Madame Foster helps a new Imaginary Friend settle in.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	The Right Thing

Madame Foster often asked herself if this Foster Home idea of hers was truly a worthwhile one.

Not in the sense that she wanted to give it up; Heavens, no! Fosters never give up on a plan they set out to do! But she sometimes took a good, hard look at the Imaginary Friends that came through her doors and wondered if anyone else cared; especially considering the shape they were in when they first settled in.

Her latest arrival was the cruelest reminder of that thought.

They had found him half-dead from fever in the back of a coach bus that had rolled into town during the middle of the night. They had changed drivers so many times by then that nobody could remember when he had gotten on the bus, or even exactly where; just that he was probably from somewhere in the Carolinas.

That wasn't even the worst part. He looked like he had been in some accident, because his left arm was in the worst shape she had ever seen - the glimpses of it she had seen before he was whisked into surgery -; broken in too many places to count. It was also severely infected, to the point that much of it had already turned black.

There was no doubt in her mind that the poor thing would have died had they not amputated his arm. It had to be done.

Even after everything he had been through, the Imaginary Friend seemed to disagree.

A day after the surgery, and a few hours after being carried up the stairs of her mansion and placed into a bed, he woke up.

Needless to say, he reacted quite poorly to his missing arm.

She remembers his frantic and horrified cries as he leapt out of bed and onto his feet, his long legs shaky and unbalanced from the anesthesia and disuse.

Despite both her and Herriman's best efforts, the Imaginary Friend raced to stuff himself in a closet and refused to come out, probably thinking that they were the ones that did this to him.

The worst part was the sound of his sobs through the door, and the feeling of powerlessness to help mend his broken heart.

Sensing there was nothing they could do for him now, they left him alone for the night.

But that was yesterday. Today is always a new day.

She wasn't even planning on seeing him that day, thinking that he needed more time to recuperate; but as she passed by the slightly ajar door to the infirmary, a voice stops her:

"Hello?"

Madame Foster cautiously steps into the room, finding the Imaginary Friend back in his bed, looking quite small in the blankets despite his tall stature. He shuffles awkwardly on the mattress, as if struggling to figure out what to say next. He probably didn't expect anyone to actually come in.

It's tense, for a moment; the silence between the old woman and the Imaginary Friend. She taps her fingers on the top of her cane, while he grips his blanket tightly with his remaining hand.

Finally, the Imaginary Friend manages to whisper:

"I'm sorry."

The elder woman is taken aback; everything that's happened, and HE feels the need to apologize?

"Sorry for what?" Madame Foster counters, "You have nothing to be sorry for, dearie. Everyone has their bad days."

The Imaginary Friend looks surprised, as if he'd anticipated a more negative response.

"Really?" He asks, making a quick glance at his bandages. He reaches for the empty air where his left arm used to be, but hesitates. "I could have reacted a little better to it all. It's nobody's fault but my own that this happened."

Madame Foster crosses the distance between them, and sits on the edge of the bed and places her cane beside her, careful not to sit on its occupant's legs.

"Believe me, I've lived long enough to know two things; that life is full of mistakes and less than perfect first impressions," she laughs, "and that's it's never too late to make up for them; who knows? You just might make a new friend while you're at it."

She reaches her hand out towards the Imaginary Friend.

"Most folks around here call me Madame Foster," she says, "So tell me, what's your name?"

The Imaginary Friend is silent as he stares at her, seemingly awestruck. He gives his hand to her, letting her take hold of his fingers.

"Wilt," he says, finally, "My name is Wilt."

"Such a lovely name, dear," Madame Foster chirps, "I don't know much about those sports athletes, with all their runnin' and jumpin' and shootin', but I like your name a lot," She pinches his cheek with her free hand, but not too tight. Not while the stitches were still raw. "It suits you."

Wilt grins as he leans into her hand, probably feeling relaxed for the first time since arriving here. It was just a grin for now, but Madame Foster could still sense that it was a hint of what was potentially a wonderful smile.

"Thank you," Wilt says.

Madame Foster knew that when it came to running this Foster Home, it was still up in the air if her idea would truly be successful in the long run. She hasn't been doing this for very long, after all.

But as long as she had the chance to help Imaginary Friends like Wilt, she knew with every fiber of her being that she was doing the right thing.

And nothing would ever stop her from doing that.


End file.
